


Garden Roses

by MorbidOptimist



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Family Fluff, Magic, Romantic Fluff, faiytales
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 07:51:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6845881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorbidOptimist/pseuds/MorbidOptimist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A woman wants a flower, a witch wants a child, a child wants a monster, and a monster wants to love; a beauty and the beast inspired story about two mothers and their very special children and the magic between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Garden Roses

**Author's Note:**

> for all your fairytale/homestuck rosemary needs; i got u friends.

After hiking through a forest so dense that in several areas she could barely pass without struggling between the trees, Porrim reached a place where the flora thinned and the dappled sunlight poured through the canopy and onto the wildflowers below.  
Relieved, Porrim sighed happily; she had been wandering for quite some time, searching for the end to wood, and considered the clearing to be a fine place to rest.

When she stepped into the ring of sunlight however, a castle was instantly visible in the near distance that hadn’t been there before.

An enchanted castle, Porrim guessed; for the air in the clearing shimmered and tingled with the feel of magic, and no castle popped into existence or remained hidden from view without it. Enchanted castles and magic were generally things Porrim did not get involved with, and as such, she had no intention of trespassing inside.

She was however, drawn to the gardens of roses lining either side of the road leading to the castle's entrance; she had never heard of a witch, wizard, or warlock that had ever taken interest in keeping flowers, so she felt safe enough walking up to take a closer look.

Indeed, the flowers were beautiful, lush, and far larger than any bloom she seen elsewhere. Their fragrance was heavy and not a bit overpowering.

Porrim couldn’t help but coo at the marvels of beauty before her.

Gingerly, she traced a petal with her finger and frowned.

Were she in better shape, she would have wandered the garden in its entirety, to find a young bush to dig up and carry with her, so that she could replant one of the wondrous plants in a garden of her own.

As it was, she was in so such condition to give the idea more than a few minutes of wistful thinking, and so she settled for plucking a smaller bloom from one of the backs of the bushes; she would have felt terrible for ruining their appearance otherwise.

As she took in the scent of her new prize, the air around her began to change and Porrim knew that she had made a grave mistake.

She turned around, and was met to the arrival of who she assumed to be the owner of the small establishment behind her.

The woman was quite ordinary looking, in that she looked perfectly human and not at all changed or deformed by magic; in terms of beauty, with her honey golden hair and full black painted lips, Porrim felt the witch could easily be considered quite attractive. But as her gaze over the woman prolonged, Porrim noticed the woman’s eyes were a bright, glowing shade of pink that put even the Imperial Queen’s to shame.

Porrim was frightened, and tried to apologize for her actions, and offered the plucked rose to its rightful owner, but she was hushed; the witch looked her over, likely deciding what manner of punishment to bestow, only to settle on the swell of her belly. Then the witch smiled.

Porrim’s eyes filled with tears; she had heard the stories of witches claiming firstborns and she was distraught at the idea that her unborn child would be torn away from her.

She began to plead, desperate to prevent such a fate from happening, and again, she was hushed and witch hummed to herself before delivering her ultimatum.

The witch would keep the child yes, but she was not a cruel woman, she explained, she would keep the baby’s mother too; she had a castle that needed tending, and she simply couldn’t keep up with it by herself and keep to her studies, too.  
There would be some minor washing or mending to attend to now and again, stains of ink that needed a little elbow grease, and occasionally she would likely need to scold a feline or two; things that would hardly be found missing from any other household, she continued gently.

She would be well provided for, the witch offered, beautiful dresses and trinkets, as many as the castle held within it, food of excellent caliber that not only cooked itself when asked, but would deliver itself directly to her.

She would even be free to roam the castle and its grounds, and the woods outside of it, if she so wished. Even the castle basement, attic, and her own workplace would remain unlocked, as a show of good faith.

The witch waited, with a gentle smile on her lips, and a friendly, hopeful look, colored her eyes.

She had heard some tales, of dragons who kept princesses in towers to stave off pangs of loneliness, and Porrim found herself wondering if the same went for wizards, too, though she herself was no one of noble blood and the woman before her sported no beard nor scales.

It sounded perfectly agreeable for herself, Porrim admitted to the witch, as she was still young and nimble, and her joints had yet to feel any strain or her back any aches, and she liked the idea of having dressing and treasures as well as the next peasant; but she was unable to answer unless she would be told the fate of her child, she explained; she would not turn a blind eye to her own offspring’s suffering, even if it meant she could live a comfortable life of relative splendor.

The witch laughed, catching Porrim off guard; it was a light sound, vibrant and more youthful than Porrim could have expected. When the laughter subsided, the witch chuckled gayly and informed her that her daughter's fate would remain the same as her own.

She had nothing to be afraid of, the witch informed her, as long as she agreed to stay, and that her daughter would live a life of luxury and freedom she likely would not be able to find growing up anywhere else.

Porrim didn’t ask how the witch knew she would bear a daughter over a son, or else something else entirely, but for fear of having her child cursed into a different species altogether, refrained from asking like the witch seemed expectant of her to do.

With no other options before her, Porrim allowed herself another moment to think it over, if only for the illusion of choice to be prolonged a moment more.

Living a life within a castle attended by a lonely witch was hardly a fate she could complain about; she had come from a small town, and unmarried as she was, when the swell of her belly had become too difficult to hide, she had fled for fear that her child would grow up with whispers and taunts shouted at them from their supposed peers, and be branded something horrible that they would never heal from, or worse, be run out of town by force, and have had her infant suffer for it.

She had hoped to find some manner of abandoned hovel, in the woods, or else found a village on the other side more accepting than the one she had fled. She had even constructed a falsehood, a noble man who had fallen to a winter sickness that she herself then fled for the sake of their child, so the villagers might take pity and allow her to build her life anew.

She thought about the imaginary village a moment more and wondered whether living a life built on lies was better than living a life of anomaly.

After taking a final deep breath, Porrim consented.

The witch nodded happily and the light in the clearing seemed to shimmer in approval; the air itself certainly felt lighter, at least.

“Since we’re going to living together for quite some time,” the witch began; a coy smile spread across her face, “maybe we should start things off right by offering our names?”

“That would probably be best, yes,” she replied; “my name is Porrim.”

“And your family name dear?”

Porrim hesitated for a moment, before remembering that the witch already had her bound in contract; “Maryam. It’s Maryam.”  
The witch nodded to herself, pleased, and offered her arm to take.

Porrim accepted it, and the witch began leading her to the awaiting castle.

“My full name is rather obnoxious; wizards you know,” the witch offered before giggling to herself, “but you may call me Roxy, and I am the descendant of the Great Witch of Seering Light and the Great Rogue Witch of the Void, so I carry the family name of Lalonde.”

“They were important, I take it?” Porrim bemusedly replied.

“Something like that,” Roxy agreed.

When they reached the great wooden door, Roxy stopped them, and turned Porrim to better face her.

“Now, before we step inside, I want to warn you that I am a witch. Things like cups and cats and stairs and doors like to roam about as they please. It shall be terribly easy to get lost, and it shall probably be a bit of a shock finding the inside bigger than the out, but you’ll get the hang of it all shortly, I think, and then I hope you’ll find this place a home and not a gilded cage; and I do hope you’ll enjoy your stay with me. If you ever need anything or find yourself in want of something, you have only to ask.”

The witch smiled broadly and Porrim felt her cheeks begin to flush.

Porrim nodded, suddenly unable to speak, and the witch clapped her hands happily in reply.

Slowly, the smile faded from the witch’s face, and Porrim realized she was about to reveal the catch that she had been expecting from the start.

“There is just one thing, that I ask of you,” Roxy began, causing Porrim’s heart to sink, “for your own safety, I must request that you never leave your room after dark, and that when your daughter is born, that she does the same.”

 

* * *

 

 

Life was sweet and bright for Kanaya; her days were spent trailing around behind her mother or her lady, and when she wasn’t busying herself by assisting them, she was free to wander and explore to her heart's content. She was given beautiful dresses, was allowed to wear pants if she pleased, she was taught how to read and write, to sew and to sing, and was allowed to tend the gardens to her liking.

Kanaya herself was well natured child, and was smiled upon by both of her guardians with great pride; and as fond as her guardians were of her, she was just as fond of them, in return.

She was beautiful, intelligent, and kind; rarely did she need a scolding or to be instructed in a serious matter twice.  
There was only one thing, by Kanaya’s doing, that had caused their family any sort difficulty.

When she had reached six summers, Kanaya broke the one rule of the house; although she knew the one rule quite well, and though she had no malicious intent behind breaking it, there came the time in where she inevitably left her room after dark.

Or rather, she had yet to enter her room, before the sun had set.

She had been reading in the library, enraptured by a book filled with magic and light romance, and had failed to keep track of the time.

It was during the sun’s last stretch of descent, that she had looked up and taken in the world around her, only to watch in horror, as the sun dipped below the horizon and left the sky darkening quickly in its wake.

Kanaya was not a fearful child, if only because she hadn’t ever had anything to fear before, but a small sense of unease did begin to settle in her stomach.

A small intrusive thought wondered at what might happen if she chose to remain, but she quickly snuffed it out; she fully intended to walk to her room no worse for wear.

Unfortunately, the castle did not have the same idea, and no matter how much Kanaya wished to go one way, the castle led her another, until she gave up and stopped.

She looked around, and although everything looked familiar, her sense of unease grew.

The castle readjusted itself, and Kanaya followed the corridor only to find herself back in the library where she had been before.

It was dark; the shadows flickered and twisted and Kanaya felt her eyes start to swell with tears.

It was then, she noticed something lurking among the writhing darkness.

Two bright glowing eyes were embedded within the shade and Kanaya could faintly make out a shape of a small body beneath.

Kanaya was unable to move, or even speak; she couldn’t even breath as the being began melting out of the shadows.  
Instinct told Kanaya that the creature was coming straight towards her.

Kanaya screamed.

At the same time, hands encircled her from behind, and Kanaya was lifted from the floor; swiftly, so much so that Kanaya spent several seconds disorientated. Silently, she was carried off, the walls and floors rearranged themselves rapidly, bending to the will of the witch, who soon deposited her in her mother’s room without warning.

Porrim gasped, startled at the sudden nocturnal intrusion, and Kanaya could not stop herself from rushing over to bury herself in her mother’s arms to cry. Porrim hugged her, and hushed her tears, then glanced up questioningly at the witch.  
“She was out after dark,” Roxy stated, answering the unaired question.

Porrim grasped her daughter tighter, but relinquished Kanaya at Roxy’s gentle insistence.

“Kanaya, are you alright?”

‘I’m s-sorry,” Kanaya said between sniffs, “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s alright, I’m not mad,” the witch replied, “but you know better than to be out of your room after dark.”

“I’m sorry,” Kanaya said again, quieter this time.

“I know dear, but promise me that you will try to be more careful from now on? Alright?”

Kanaya nodded, and Roxy pressed a kiss to her temple.

“What happened?” Porrim asked hesitantly, when Kanaya returned to her.

Roxy sighed, and stood.

“She met Rose; my daughter.”

With that, the witch ran a hand through Kanaya’s hair, and bade the Maryams goodnight.

Porrim pulled Kanaya into bed and settled them both for sleep; all through the night, Kanaya dreamt of twisting shadows and wicked teeth.

They next morning, it was as if the incident had been forgotten and everything went as it usually did, and neither her mother nor her lady made any mention of the night before.

Kanaya tried to put it out of her mind.

That night however, Kanaya was wide awake, and she spent the hours away watching shadows dance at the bottom of her door, and shivered.

A few nights later, Kanaya fancied herself bold in the way only children can be, and sat up with her door unlocked, ready to face to face the cursed witchling; a couple hours in however, and Kanaya grew tired and fell fast asleep.

She dreamt of strange voices, and creatures that lived deep within the sea, and awoke with the feeling that something had had been in her room, watching her.

She did not leave her door unlocked again.

Fear stuck with Kanaya, and quickly reshaped itself into curiosity, and then bloomed into fascination.  
She explored the castle with a purpose, and her questions were subtle, but pointed.

Who was Rose? Kanaya wanted to know; who was the witch’s daughter, and why was she composed of shadows and ink? Was she a girl?

Or a monster?

Her guardians could not deny her for very long, and soon, they caved in.

Rose had been cursed, her mother said while they tended the washing; and she had been so long before Kanaya had been born and likely longer than the witch had laid claim to the castle.

Roxy was working tirelessly to break the curse, she informed her, as she hung the linens to dry; she knew not what had caused the curse, nor who had casted it. The elder Lalaonde had simply found her daughter in her crib one night, with ashen skin and blackened lips; heartbroken, and fearful for daughter’s life, Roxy had fled with her babe in the night and had eventually stumbled across the castle much the same way Porrim herself had. She quickly devoted herself to the study of magic, and taught herself inch by painful inch, so that she could end her daughter’s suffering.

“Is she dangerous?” Kanaya asked one afternoon, while she worked on her embroidering.

A pained look spread across the witch’s face; she was silent for a long while, caught in a memory; she nearly drained her wine glass completely when Kanaya had the dawning realization that the smears of black liquid and the shattered objects that were want to appear around the castle were likely her daughter’s doing and not a side effect of the castle being magical.  
Kanaya had wondered why so many of the statues became broken or tarnished when the witch seemed fond of the great wizards remaining whole.

After a while, just when Kanaya was content to let the question rest, Roxy admitted that her daughter had grown cold and distant; she feared that by the time she discovered the cure, it would be too late, and the stain of Grimdarkness would never part with her daughter’s tortured soul.

The witch begged Kanaya not to think too poorly of Rose, but warned her again not to wander about after dark, just in case.

 

* * *

 

 

During Kanaya’s seventh year, she discovered the witchling’s bedroom.

It was in the middle of the day, and her mother was tidying the tower while her lady was busying herself with her books, and neither of them had ever forbidden her from trying to find the cursed witchling.

The door was locked, and the walls on either side had been warped and slashed; they looked as if stained by ink and Kanaya felt fear for a second time in her life.

But, Kanaya was young, and she spent her free time reading of fairytales, folklore, and true love; and Kanaya did not know how to deny her feelings of curiosity and hope.

She knocked gently on the door, and waited.

To her mild surprise, the door creaked open, and allowed her passage inside.

The girl was sleeping, and the shadows dripped upwards into the air above her; sunlight seemed to pour from the girl’s bone white hair, and Kanaya found herself entranced.

When she caught herself staring, she scolded herself and looked about the room instead.

It seemed a touch messy, which was normal enough for any child, but the lack of windows and the gashes of ink across the room was rather off putting at first glance.

It was probably difficult, Kanaya mused, keeping things clean when your body emitted ink at its whim.  
She decided that she would help tidy the room; as housekeeping was the original reason she and her mother were provided for.

She was careful not to damage any of the girl’s possessions, and prided herself on not opening any of the books and journals littered about like most of her wanted to. Instead, she put everything into what looked to be its proper place, and started the arduous task of removing black stains from wherever she could.

She spent several hours cleaning, all the way until dinner in fact; she was not able to clean everything that day, but it was abundantly clear that progress had been made regardless.

Kanaya spent a few lingering moments looking at the sleeping girl, and smiled softly to herself before slipping out the door.

 Kanaya made a habit of checking in on the witchling’s room, to see if it was in need of tidying, and kept this secret to herself.  
Some days, she had time to do little more than to drop by and whisper a friendly good morning, before slipping back out to resume her other duties, but others, she was free to spend with the cursed girl as long as she wished.

Kanaya liked the slight rush of danger opening the old door caused her, and the feeling of foolish bravery that swelled beneath her chest when she looked at the sleeping witchling.  
She didn’t want to be rude however, and felt awkward for looking at the girl for too long, and soon started a habit of rambling while she worked.

She talked about the things she planned to do and the things she had done the day before, of her mother, the gardens, the cats and the witch, snippets and summaries of the books she had read or had asked her guardians to read to her; during her visits she even let herself ramble about hardly anything at all, like the clouds or the weather or else stopped talking entirely to hum tunes that were half made up and were carried by flights of fancy.

She hoped the witch’s daughter didn't mind the noise, or else, she hoped the girl took some measure of comfort from them.  
Kanaya often wondered if the things she said while the girl was sleeping had any affect on her when she awoke; for their were some days Kanaya would enter her room and find things just the way she had left them during her last visit, and other days when Kanaya would be welcomed to the sight of absolute chaos, with belongs scattered and slashed, and ink smeared across everything it had been able to touch.

Several times, Kanaya had been forced to scour the castle for a ladder, to wash the black liquid stuck to the ceiling.  
Still, Kanaya considered things to be going rather well, and found herself looking forward to the prospect of her daily visits.

By her eighth year, Kanaya realized that she realized she could hear whispers in her room at night, and that she had been forgetting to lock her door for some time.

Mildly frightening, Kanaya thought; but mostly, she found herself pleased by the idea that the cursed girl might be returning her gestures of friendship.

Emboldened, she tucked herself in the next evening, closed her eyes, and waited for the witchling’s visit.

She kept her breathing even and slow, and soon, the telltale creak of her door opening was her reward.

Light footsteps meandered towards her, and Kanaya’s heart lept into her mouth when she felt the pressure of the girl sitting down at the end of her bed.

Strange sounds trickled around Kanaya’s ears, and she realized that the voices she had been hearing, were once voice, layered overtop of itself over and over until individual words were lost in a quiet ethereal stream of murmuring sounds.

The girl’s voice nearly lulled her fully into sleep, and she was just about to surrender herself into the inviting idea of it, when she felt something cold brush against her hair.

She fought to keep herself from moving, or making any sound, and forced her lungs to remain steady in their rhythm.

The girl’s whispering stopped, and Kanaya was half frightened that the witchling would hear how her heart was racing beneath her chest.

The cold vanished, and Kanaya pinned the strange sensation to Rose’s many shadows, because the next touch was warm, and definitely human. Small fingers followed the trial the shadows took along her brow, and then slid ever so gently, to tuck her hair behind her ear, and then graze along her cheek before they pulled away.

Rose shifted, and Kanaya bit her tongue to keep from moving before an echoed murmur flowered against her ear.

Then, gentler than the tapping of a moth’s wing, a kiss was pressed at the corner of her mouth.

Kanaya sat up, her heart thundering in her chest, but by the time she opened her eyes, rose was already gone, with nothing but tiny trails of ink dried on her bed sheets leaving any indication that the witchling had ever been there at all.

Kanaya stripped her bed, and as soon as the sun had risen, hid them within the rest of the day’s washing with a great sigh of relief.

Unfortunately, there was one smear of evidence she hadn’t considered; when her mother beckoned her for breakfast, Porrim looked at her oddly for a moment before asking her why she had put lip paint on her cheek instead of on her lips.

Kanaya had never been a good liar, so when she stuttered to form a coherent reply, Porrim’s twinkling grin had turned grim.

She gazed at her minutes before reaching forward to swipe her thumb against Kanaya’s lips.

“Is that ink?”

“M-maybe?”

“And where did it come from?”

“I, um, that is, Rose probably?”

“Rose probably?”

Kanaya licked her lips and nodded; “She ah, she’s kinda covered in ink. And… stuff. Shadows, more like.”

Kanaya watched silently as Porrim forced herself to take a deep breath.

“And how exactly, did Rose get ink on you?”

“Well,” Kanaya offered, while she rubbed the back of her neck, “I kind of left my door unlocked for her.”

“You did.”

“Well, you see, I’ve been visiting her a lot and I thought it would be to nice to see if she would visit me and... she did and then she sort of kissed me?”

Her mother, of course, was understandably concerned, and quickly ferried her daughter into the witch’s work chamber.

Roxy paused her reading, took one look at Porrim’s restrained emotions and the stain on Kanaya’s face and sighed to herself before gesturing them to sit down.

Then, the witch surprised both Maryams completely, by summoning her own daughter to join them.

Roxy leaned against a statue that still boasted a face, and waited.

Slowly, the door to the study opened, revealing the daughter of the witch.

She was small for her age, and dark shadows exuding from her tiny frame only served to make her appear smaller, in the light. Her eyes, by contrast, were large and a vibrant violet color, speckled with glimmering white speckles that fought to cast light in the already lit room. Her hair also tried to shed its glow, and appeared a hollow golden color. Black tear trails stained her cheeks, and her lips were pitch black from the ink the flowed against them whenever she parted them.

Rose looked more akin to a wilted blossom, Kanaya thought, rather than the ghostlike monster she had seen in the dark.  
Then again, she considered, what monster ever looked as terrifying in the middle of the day?

Hesitantly, Rose crept forward, and Kanaya noted the look of guilt riddled across her features.

When the girl had made come close enough for her liking, Roxy straightened up and padded over to lay a hand on Rose’s shoulder, and stopped down to her level.

“Rosie dear, tell Mommie something, did you you kiss Kanaya last night?”

Reluctantly, Rose nodded.

“Did Kanaya ask you to kiss her?”

More reluctantly, Rose shook her head.

“Did you ask Kanaya if you could kiss her?”

At this, Rose bowed her head and pulled into herself, as if she were trying to disappear completely from the room.  
Roxy patted her daughter’s hair gently and looked towards Kanaya.

“Did you let her into your room darling, or did she come in uninvited?”

“I invited her,” Kanaya stammered quickly; “I’ve been visiting her a lot because I thought we could be friends.”

“Oh?” Roxy replied, surprised; she then turned back to her daughter and gently coaxed Rose’s face up until she was looking at her again.

“Rose, were you trying to scare Kanaya?”

Rose’s eyes grew wide and filled with fear.

“Or were you trying to give her a nice kiss?”

Rose nodded rapidly, and clutched her mother’s coat.

“Ah, I see, Roxy asked replied, more to herself than to the girl; “you were trying to give her a kiss goodnight perhaps?” she let the question gently trail off before adding, “or maybe you just thought she might like one?”

Again, Rose nodded, and she tugged Roxy’s coat to further carry across her response.

“Ok darling, just a moment;” the witch looked up from her daughter and over to Porrim.

“Well, they sound like they’re getting along at least, would you like me to do about it?”

Porrim had calmed, though flickers of uncertainty worried her lower lip every so often, and woman spent several seconds looking from Rose to Kanaya to the witch, and back again.

She sighed, waved a hand in the air, and then rubbed her temple.

Another few seconds passed before she looked at her daughter once more and reached her conclusion.

“I don’t much care for the idea of keeping them apart if they’re getting along; perhaps it's about time they both had a friend their own age.”

Roxy beamed at her happily, and Kanaya too, felt a large grin spread across her face when she noticed Rose shyly smiling at her from behind her mother’s coat.

 

* * *

 

 

Life in the castle changed after that, and the ban separating everyone from interacting with Rose was lifted.

She was largely nocturnal still, but slowly, she began joining the Maryam’s during dinner, and then followed them into the library where she would sit silently as Kanaya and her mother chatted or quietly read from the many books littering the shelves. Sometimes, Rose would crane her head, to better see what book one of them had chosen, but no amount of coaxing could draw the girl near enough for her to read along beside them.

Roxy was thrilled to see her daughter roam about of her own accord, and acting sociable; of course, sociable for Rose meant sitting out of arm's reach and refusing to speak, but compared to what they were used to, all considered it a marvelous step forward.

Unable to subdue her enthusiasm completely, Roxy lavished praise and attention to her daughter as quietly as she could, which still seemed to startle her daughter greatly; sometimes a statue still lost their face or a few new smears of blackness appeared around the castle, but Rose never stopped her mother from trying, or turned away from the witch’s hugs or her kisses hello.

As unbalanced as she seemed around her own mother, Rose seemed to blossom under Porrim’s care. She began trialing the woman with greater frequency and Kanaya could hardly blame her; her mother had a unique enchantment all her own where it was nearly impossible not grow completely fond of Porrim, she just had a draw that lured people to her side, where they would quiet and flourish under her gentle guidance.

Kanaya loved her mother dearly, and was happy that Rose seemed so fond of her too.

She was happier still when as time passed, Rose grew bolder and no longer walked about the castle as if she were the guest who had no right to be there, and instead wandered around contently, and began joining them for breakfasts and lunches or whenever else the mood struck her. Rose even took to holding small concerts, where she showed off her skill with a violin.

Eventually, she also renounced her vigil of silence, and though no one could understand her strange tongue, it pleased Kanaya immensely when she started to recognise some of the individual words; the wavering lilt for “mother,” a crisp hissing dulcet consonant for what seemed to mean “cat,” and the soothing gurgling purr that Kanaya had come to realize was her own name.

No one feared wandering the halls at sunset, or leaving their rooms at night to watch the stars, though they kept such activities brief.

At thirteen, Kanaya and Rose were practically inseparable.

Roxy had long let her studious nature dwindle, preferring instead to become more involved in their slowly forming family unit.

Porrim greatly approved, and coaxed the often coaxed younger girls into giving in and play along until family meals or collective outings through the woods became common and looked forward to.

Rose no longer seemed distressed by her mother’s presence, no longer hid for days at a time whenever Porrim scolded her, and placed her hand within Kanaya’s for safekeeping whenever possible. Kanaya was so terribly proud of Rose, and her heart raced whenever she looked over to see Rose giving her the quiet smile reserved just for her and their kisses goodnight left horrible flutterings in her chest.

At fourteen Roxy gifted them small mares to ride and they spent countless hours on horseback, attempting to outshine each other in friendly sportsmanship. Porrim crafted them gowns and taught them to dance; so they spent countless evenings having imaginary balls, where they danced until the moon rose high enough to beckon them to bed.

Their fifteenth summer came and went between giggles passed behind hands underneath blossoming trees and coy smiles pressed between pages of dried wildflowers in the journals they traded.

Roxy had not found the cure for the curse, but succeeded in creating a translation of the forgotten language Rose spoke in, and the written form of the language that spiraled around whatever she wrote on; letters and notes were immediately exchanged, poems and terrible short stories treasured and kept safely tucked away only to be pulled out and reread as their whims demanded.

At sixteen, Rose and Kanaya had followed their mothers into the gardens for one of their walks, only to find that they had spent the evening chatting away on the edge of the fountain.

When they shared their kiss goodnight, it was far long and deeper than any that had come before, and it left them both shaky and breathless.

Kanaya’s heart leaped into her chest, and this time, she allowed it safe passage between her lips.

As jarring as the sensation was for her, the look of wonder and joy in young witch’s eyes was worth it, and Kanaya let the words slip from her mouth several times more, until they both had a better feel and taste of them.

Their mother’s of course, were only too hear the news some days later, and they hosted a small party in their honor; it was the only time Kanaya could ever recall seeing every cat in the castle in the same room at once and she ended up giving up on keeping count of them, to simply trust in Roxy’s proclamation that there were seventy two of them.

Thankfully Porrim had redirected her attention at that point, or else she had assured her daughter, Roxy would have spent the rest of the day informing them of all their names, vocations, and favorite routines.  
When they were seventeen, they had shared so many kisses that Kanaya’s lips were as black as Rose’s.

They planned their surprises for each other carefully, as it had grown harder to surprise each other over the years, but one day, Rose gave Kanaya the greatest surprise of all.

Sitting on the bed in Kanaya’s room, Rose had leaned in and gently guided Kanaya’s face near her own.

Kanaya closed her eyes and hummed happily, expecting another kiss; but when she felt Rose’s lips barely a breath away from her own, Rose murmured something against them.

It took Kanaya to realize it, and then found tears welling in her eyes of their own accord;Rose had figured out how to strangle her voice, to contort her otherworldly speech until she could almost force out four perfectly quiet, tiny, words that filled Kanaya’s heart with joy.

“I love you too.”

She could not manage more complex sentences, and ink still dribbled from her lips when she opened them, but for Kanaya, it was more than enough and one of her most cherished gifts.

 

* * *

 

 

And so it was, that deep in the wood, in an enchanted castle, a witch, a mother, a maiden, and cursedling, lived and loved and were merry and bright.

Seasons changed and summers went, and tales eventually spread of the strange witch who kept fair maidens locked away, guarded by a fearsome creature of shade and shadow, of cats that wandered as they pleased and walls and stairs that moved of their own accord, and most of all, a tale was passed about woman in need who happened to come across a bed of roses, and a maiden who saw a monster of a girl, and rose within the beast.

 

The End.


End file.
